


You'll Be Alright Tonight

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Christmas Fluff, Coming Out, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Praise Kink, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: “Hey,” Steve said. There were still snowflakes on his cheek - one melted.“Harrington,” Billy said. From somewhere deep down, he pulled out that million-dollar smile -- the one he normally had reserved for charming women when he’d wanted something, a smile he hadn’t summoned in months.“Can I get a coffee?” Steve asked. He leaned forward as if he were telling Billy a quiet little secret.Billy’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “Lotsa cream, lotsa sugar?”“How’d you know?”“I pay attention.”Billy heard Jack quietly slip out the back door.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 35
Kudos: 258
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	You'll Be Alright Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deathbyOTPin123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbyOTPin123/gifts).



> Happiest of holidays, deathbyOTPin123! I hope you enjoy this gift fic -- it got slightly more heated than I'd anticipated when I started it, so I hope you don't mind that. I decided to go with like, multiple tropes and just throw everything in there. It's a Christmas fic, after all :)

“And then I was like, _fuck you Morrison. Are you high? That’s not what I agreed to pay for your shitty little Pinto_ ,” Keith droned on to Billy as he handed over change to a customer. The customer at the counter looked befuddled, and her gaze flicked to Billy. 

Billy shrugged as he started making her cappuccino. 

“So he insisted -- and I could not possibly make up this level of jackassery -- that I, Keith Gibbons, editor of the Hawkins High Herald and thrice-champion of the Chemistriathalon, agreed to pay him, dipshit Alan Morrison who failed Kaminsky’s class three times -- _I said three times, Hargrove_ -” At that, Keith snapped his fingers next to Billy’s head and held up the number three. 

Billy nodded as he free-poured the foam into the cup and slid it across the counter. 

“-five hundred dollars for his rusted-out, Flintstone-floorboard, hamster wagon. Hah. Riiight.” 

The customer shared a conspiratorial _get a load of this guy_ smile with Billy, then winked. 

Keith was quiet for all of seven seconds as he watched her give Billy a quick once-over and then walk away.

“I don’t get it. You hardly utter more than ten words in an eight hour shift and _all_ of the chicks are into you. Like. All of them. It’s sickening, man. I talk all damn day. I’m an excellent conversationalist. I should be swarming with attention. What am I doing wrong here?” 

Billy raised an eyebrow at Keith. 

Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s the scars, isn’t it? It’s those goddamn scars and your deep ocean blue eyes. You’re all mysterious and brooding. I don’t stand a chance. Ugh. I’m gonna have a talk with Jack -- see if he can put us on opposite shifts. What are your secrets, Hargrove? C’mon. Help a buddy out.” 

Billy huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“Fine. Harbor your secrets. Be like that. Just don’t come running to me for a ride when the next snowstorm leaves you hiking through a two-foot snowbank.” 

“Just heard it’s supposed to snow tomorrow.” A voice came from the register. It was Lucas Sinclair. 

“Foot and a half is what channel 4 predicted,” Dustin said as he walked up to the counter. “Two large hot chocolates, please,” he said, sliding cash across the counter. 

“Don’t take his money. I got it,” Billy said. Since Billy’s recovery, Dustin had come around to Billy’s side like a stray cat, weary and suspicious, until he’d caught two boys jeering _look, it’s that freak zombie metalhead_ at Billy outside of the arcade one day. One had an arm cocked and about to throw a milkshake -- and then all bets were off. Dustin went ballistic and chased them off with the lightsaber he inexplicably was holding while unleashing a war cry at the top of his lungs. 

After that, Dustin was firmly in Billy’s camp.

Keith pushed the money back across the counter. “It’s not supposed to start until around 4p.m., so you little dipshits won’t be getting a snow day. Go to school. Maybe learn something.” 

Both Dustin and Lucas’s faces fell. 

“Luckily, yours truly has the day off,” Keith said, smiling with a smug little grin. “I’ll be sitting back drinking a hot toddy watching it all fall from under five blankets on my living room couch. Hargrove here has the afternoon shift. ” 

Billy added whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles to the top of the hot chocolates and placed them on the counter. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered quietly. 

“Thanks Billy,” Dustin said, ducking his head. Billy cracked a little smile. 

“Thanks,” said Lucas. “And hey -- if you need a lift, I bet my uncle would drive you home tomorrow. He’ll probably be out anyway running his plow after the bulk of it falls. Just give him a call if it’s looking too rough for you to walk. He wouldn’t mind.” 

Billy smiled thinly and nodded. Jack Sinclair had already done so much for Billy: he’d hired Billy on the spot when Billy peeled the “Help Wanted” sign off of the window at Jack’s Cuppa Joe coffee shop. He owned the small one-bedroom apartment above the vet’s office and rented it out to Billy. He’d stood between Neil and Billy when Neil came marching in the shop demanding that Billy move back home and work off what he owed him. Jack stared Neil down and stated that Billy was grown and could make his own decisions seeing as how he was now 18 years old with a job and his own place. 

It seemed like an innocuous thing to say just in its words, but with Jack standing at 6’4” saying it with increasing volume in Neil’s face with his arms crossed probably helped in Neil’s decision to turn around and stomp back out the door. 

Billy was certain he’d never be able to tell Jack what it had all meant to him -- but he hoped the wooden figurine of a horse that he was carving for Jack at home would communicate just a modicum of what he felt. He was modeling it after Montrose, the oldest of Jack’s three horses. 

In any case, if Jack wasn’t available and Billy had to walk through knee-deep snow after closing tomorrow, it wouldn’t be the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last. His apartment was only a mile and a half away -- not like he’d be walking for hours or anything. If the Camaro was fixed, none of this would be a problem -- but the Camaro was still under a tarp in the garage on Cherry Lane. 

Billy’s baby was being held hostage by Neil, who insisted that it was _his_ car because Billy owed him for room and board for the four months that Billy lived there after he’d turned 18. 

Someday Billy would spring her free. He just had to figure out how. 

~*~

“Hey,” Max said as Billy slid her a peppermint mocha. “Did I tell you about what happened in my English class on Monday?” 

“No,” Billy said absently. 

“Well there’s this guy who sits two rows over from me. He’s, like, a senior or something and failed freshman English in his first year and has to repeat. So Mrs. Haney was reading this part from Romeo and Juliet when-” 

Max continued talking. Billy knew he should focus on her story, he knew it was important to Max, but it was in that moment that Steve Harrington strolled up to the register and ordered a large coffee with cream and sugar from Keith. 

He tugged off his hat and his hair stuck up at adorable angles. He seemed to sense this and started raking his fingers through it wildly, trying to get it to calm down. 

He was wearing a brown coat. On anyone else it would look ugly as sin but Steve looked _amazing_ in brown. Well -- in Billy’s eyes, Steve looked good in just about anything. Short running shorts. Baggy sweatshirt. One of those ridiculous polo/khaki combinations. He always looked like sex on a stick. Right now his cheeks were pink, flushed from the cold. 

“Oh, hey,” Steve said when his eyes landed on Billy. “Glad you’re working tonight.” 

Billy swallowed heavily and knocked over a pitcher of steamed milk. 

“Jesus Hargrove, watch it,” Keith hissed. 

“Ah shit,” Billy said. 

“You alright?” Max asked as she leaned over the counter and peered down as Billy started to mop up his mess. 

“Yeah, fine,” Billy said, trying to concentrate on cleaning. Definitely not watching the way Steve interacted with Max, how sweet and genuine he was telling her how she should compliment Kaminsky’s ties and he’d be more likely to give extra credit and how Click likes it when students volunteer to help her pass out papers. 

“Thanks,” Max said to Steve as she put a lid on her mocha. “Need every tip I can get. Freshman year is turning out to be brutal for me.” She turned back to Billy. “Hey. Wanna come over tonight for pizza? I got a copy of _Evil Dead_.” 

The unspoken ‘Neil won’t be there’ was understood between them. Max never invited Billy over unless Neil was going to be at work, out with Susan, or on one of his overnight trips to Indy to visit an old Vietnam vet buddy. (Max suspected he had a mistress up there and that it would only be a matter of time before Susan divorced him). 

“Huh. _Evil Dead_ , a holiday heartwarmer,” Billy said with a smile. “Sure, kid.” 

“I like to be festive this time of year. What can I say? Seeya later.” She tugged on her hat and pressed a lid on her mocha. “Bye Steve.” 

“Later, Max,” Steve said. 

“So, how did everything go?” Steve asked quietly. “With Hopper last Tuesday.” 

Billy shrugged. “Alright.” He wasn’t particularly up to talking about his talk with Hopper, though he’d passed Steve as he walked back to Hopper's office. Hopper wanted to talk about Neil, clearly trying to pry information after he’d caught wind about the way Neil was, and that was the last goddamn thing on Earth Billy wanted to discuss. 

Steve nodded. “Hey I hope you don’t mind that I kind of listened in about you working tomorrow during the snowstorm. I have the day off tomorrow. Want me to come pick you up when you’re done with work? I’m putting snow chains on the tires as soon as I get home.” 

Billy ached at the thought of being so close to Steve in the car -- of sitting with him in a heated interior, insulated, warm, as the world turned white around them. He wanted it. But somehow he couldn’t find the words. He felt like he had the entire time since being released from the hospital, like the mindflayer still had control of his tongue. 

There was also that part of his brain that shut down at the thought of wanting something out of Steve that Billy was certain he wasn’t likely to get. That part that Neil had attempted to beat out of him. That part that made Billy feel like he wasn’t worthy of Steve’s attention, never _had_ been worthy -- which was why he came at Steve so hard when he first arrived in Hawkins. 

Can’t have him, so beat the shit out of him, was what his lizard brain had told him. 

Since his release from the hospital, though, Billy decided to just go ahead and allow Steve to be nice to him. Billy had cried and stared out windows and punched walls and sweat and swore and screamed and clawed his way back into humanity tooth and nail while he was in the hospital, so he figured it was just fine to let himself feel Steve’s sunshine occasionally. Maybe he deserved this. A friendly smile. A cigarette outside of the Henderson’s. Frequent visits to the coffee shop. 

And then there was the mixtape -- but Billy didn’t want to dwell on that. 

“Billy?” Steve prompted after a few moments of silence. “It’s not a problem. I don’t mind. I’ll even come up a bit early and wait for you. I have this book to read. Robin leant it to me, said I should give it a shot. She doesn’t seem to care that I told her I’m not like, much of a reader. She told me I’d probably like it. So I gotta trust her. Right?” 

Billy nodded. “What’s the book?” 

“Something about Las Vegas? Fear?” 

“ _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_?” 

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. You know it? Is it any good?” 

Billy laughed. “Yeah. It’s good, Harrington. You’ll be entertained.” 

“Good. Good.” Steve was quiet for a moment as he continued to regard Billy, his eyes drifting down to Billy’s hands, looking at the scars on the back of them before wandering back up to his face. “So? See you tomorrow then?” 

Billy nodded and handed Steve his coffee. “Yeah,” he said. His voice was softer than he would’ve liked. “Hasta mañana, pretty boy.¨ 

And there it was -- that fire in his gut that burned hot and down low around Harrington. 

Steve looked amused as he backed away from the counter. 

Billy watched Steve go -- a not unpleasant sight. 

“Dude that’s the most you’ve said in a week’s worth of shifts put together,” Keith said. 

“Keith?” Billy said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck off.” 

Keith laughed and slapped Billy’s shoulder. “Right on, Hargrove. Right on.” 

~*~

“So Steve Harrington,” Max said. 

Billy choked on his piece of pizza. The way she said it was in that tone -- the one that moms use to tease their children about a possible suitor. He felt his face flush with embarrassment and tried to affect a cool, casual tone. “What about him?”

Max gave him a side-eye. “Nothing, really. I kind of noticed that he comes around the shop a lot. And I know he’s not there for, like, _Keith_.” 

Billy couldn’t think of what to say back. It was true -- Harrington did come in on most days when Billy was working. Yet still, his stomach flipped. It felt like he’d been caught, though he couldn’t think of what he might’ve been doing wrong. “Yeah. He does.” 

“I mean after what happened at the Byers last year. It just seems weird, is all.” 

Billy reached over and grabbed the bowl of popcorn, taking a handful. “We sorted that shit out a long time before the mindflayer. A year’s a long time, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Max snuck a handful of popcorn. 

Billy smiled at the memory. “Had a heart to heart with him after hitting the keg pretty hard at Angelica Moore’s graduation party. I ended up holding his hair while he puked.” He left off that Steve’s hair wasn’t nearly long enough to be in the path of Steve’s puke -- Billy had just really wanted to touch Steve’s hair. 

Max wrinkled her nose. “Gross.” 

“Yeah. It was pretty gross.” They’d flung their arms drunkenly around each other and bellowed out _Sister Christian_ at the top of their lungs on the front lawn until Angelica’s neighbor shouted at them to can it before she called the police. 

“Hah. Jokes on you, Mrs. Neighbor. I’m police with the frens. Frens with the police,” Steve slurred back. 

It was a surge of happiness, and Billy felt warmth at the memory of Steve’s arm around Billy’s side -- and his beer breath just a little too close to Billy’s face singing, _motorin -- what’s your price for flight!_ , low, just for Billy to hear, away from the party, smiling and singing for Billy.

“Max.” 

She looked over at him after he was quiet for a few moments. She was older now and more settled into herself. Some of the edge that lingered from San Diego had faded -- still there, but not quite as sharp as before. “Yeah?”

Billy swallowed. “I’m. Ah. I’m gay.” 

Max looked at him for another moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Cool. So are you just gonna hog that popcorn bowl all night, or is popcorn just for gay people around here? Because--”

Billy yanked it back as she lunged for it, sending some pieces falling to the floor. 

“You _asshole_ , you’re wasting it!” 

Billy laughed and shoved the bowl at her. 

“Dick,” Max laughed. She shoved his shoulder. 

“Shitbird,” Billy said. 

The rest of the evening was dedicated to popcorn and horror. Max made them both put on Santa hats. 

Billy wouldn’t have it any other way. 

~*~

Billy woke up early the next day totally wired, ready to jump out of bed, even though he had every opportunity to sleep in since he was working the afternoon shift. His body didn’t seem to want to let him. 

Well -- more like his mind wouldn’t let him. 

As he lay in bed all he could do was think about Harrington coming up to the coffee shop later, sitting on the one comfy object they had -- a cushy loveseat by the fireplace -- with a book in hand. 

Billy paced between his bedroom and the kitchen, looking for any task to do to settle his nerves, to deal with the undercurrent of electricity that was running under his skin. He popped in a cassette from the pile and pressed play. 

It was Steve’s mixtape. Of course it was. 

Billy lay back on his bench press and wrapped both hands around the bar as the first piano keys sounded the intro to _Sister Christian_. 

This was definitely not helping his predicament. 

He lifted up on the bar and exhaled as his arms met the resistance. He exhaled as he pressed up against the weight and it did help clear his mind as he focused on the physical exertion. Dumbbells, pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups -- all of it helped to center himself. 

After his workout, he looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror on his bedroom wall. His ab muscles were starting to become pronounced again. His biceps had definition. Even his pecs looked good underneath the extensive scarring that littered his abdomen and chest. 

For the first time in quite a while, Billy felt like he looked _good_. That cocky sense of self-image welled up inside of him and felt like maybe he might be the same guy who once upon a time used to smile at himself and check out his own ass in the mirror. 

As he got ready for work, he took extra time in blow-drying his hair, using mousse that hadn't been touched in months. He applied a bit of cologne to his neck. He put in his favorite dangly earring and a tight pair of jeans and an even tighter blue sweater. 

And after waffling for a minute, he applied the lightest touch of eyeliner under his bottom lashes. 

He checked himself out in the mirror again and gave himself a wink. 

Not bad. 

_You’ll be alright tonight_ , Night Ranger sang in the background. 

~*~

Keith wolf-whistled at Billy when he walked into Jack’s Cuppa Joe. “Hot date tonight or what, Hargrove? Bet it’s that chick who was checking you out yesterday. She looked like she was ready to eat you alive.” 

Billy just ducked his chin and ignored it, focusing instead on putting on his apron and clocking in. 

“Can’t a man just look nice because he feels like lookin nice? Maybe he wants to look nice for his own self. Ever thought of that?” Jack asked. 

“No. I haven’t,” Keith said flatly. 

“Well then maybe you should think about it. If you did, bet more girls would be talkin to you. Hargrove here knows what’s up.” 

Billy smiled and shook his head. 

“As enlightening as this entire conversation is, I have a do, in fact, have a date tonight -- with my couch, some pasta, and a copy of _The Last Starfighter_. So, Mr. Sinclair, if you don’t need me for anything else --”

“You may go,” Jack said. 

“I bid all of you adieu,” Keith said as he walked off, taking off his apron as he left. 

Jack clucked his tongue. “There’s somethin wrong with that boy. Loyal, hard worker, but somethin’s just a _little_ off there.” 

“He’s alright,” Billy said quietly. 

Jack turned to face Billy. His voice was pitched low -- the few customers seated at tables too far away to hear. “And what about you, son? You okay?” 

Billy nodded. He tried to focus on cleaning out the portafilter -- anything but the complex web of emotions that he did not feel like sorting out in this time and place. 

Jack stepped back, apparently satisfied. “You can call me. Any time. You have your demons. I was in Vietnam, so I have demons, too. I mean that, day or night. Understand?” 

Billy inhaled and this time looked up to Jack’s eyes. He had the face of a coach -- not unkind, empathy present. He’d shaved his mustache three weeks ago and looked about fifteen years younger. “Yes. And thank you, Mr. Sinclair.” 

“You saved my nephew, Billy. I’m not forgetting that -- not any time soon.” 

It wasn’t exactly discomfort that Billy felt at Jack’s words -- just this warm, glowing feeling that he had no idea how to handle. He felt like maybe he was holding a little shining star in his hands and it’s not like he’d ever held one before, so he had no idea what to do with it. So instead he replaced the portafilter and started cleaning the steam wand and drip tray. 

Luckily Jack spared him by continuing. “You need a ride after your shift? I’ll be out plowing til the morning. Wouldn’t be any trouble to swing on by and pick you up.” 

Billy glanced out the window and there was a beemer in the parking lot. He could see the outline of Steve tugging down the rearview mirror toward himself and carding his fingers through his hair. “Nah. My ride is here.” 

Jack frowned. “Already? You just got here. Your shift’s not over for seven hours.” 

Steve walked in the door and smiled brightly at Billy, waving. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think he’d be this early, either.” Billy bit down on the grin that formed on his face. He tried to, at least. 

Jack looked at Billy, then looked at Steve, then looked back at Billy. He knocked his knuckles once on the table. “I’m gonna go ahead and take off then. You all have a good evening. If you need me, catch me on the walkie talkie.” 

“Thanks,” Billy said, approaching the register and Steve walked up. 

Everything was pretty quiet in the shop -- once 11a.m. rolled around, the rush started to taper off and grew more and more silent, save for the sounds of the espresso machine and the soft jazz standards that Jack liked to pipe over the speakers. 

“Hey,” Steve said. There were still snowflakes on his cheek - one melted. 

“Harrington,” Billy said. From somewhere deep down, he pulled out that million-dollar smile -- the one he normally had reserved for charming women when he’d wanted something, a smile he hadn’t summoned in months. 

“Can I get a coffee?” Steve asked. He leaned forward as if he were telling Billy a quiet little secret. 

Billy’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “Lotsa cream, lotsa sugar?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“I pay attention.” 

Billy heard Jack quietly slip out the back door. 

~*~

Dustin, Lucas, and Max all chattered loudly around the table in front of the loveseat, with Dustin sitting in a chair opposite Lucas and Max. 

“How many feet are in a _fathom_?” Dustin said, reading the question from a Trivial Pursuit card. 

Max was pretty close to winning -- she only had to earn a wedge for Science & Nature, a category that Dustin and Lucas had beelined to and earned wedges in immediately. The boys might’ve shown their knack for science right off the bat, but Max had handily won all of the other wedges as the two of them struggled around the most of the rest of the board. 

“Hmm,” she pondered. 

Billy wandered behind Dustin and wiped down an already clean table. He waited until Max’s eyes were on him and he tugged quickly at the collar of his sweater with three fingers on each hand. 

“Ah! I remember. Six!” She said, smiling. 

Dustin threw down the card. “Unreal. I only have three wedges. How does she have all six and I only have _three_?” 

Lucas placed the green wedge in Max’s piece. “Because, my girl is both beautiful _and_ brilliant.” He went in for a kiss on her cheek while Dustin made a gagging motion. 

“Don’t be a sore loser Dustin,” Max said as she took Lucas’s hand.

“Uhm, excuse me, but you haven’t won _yet_. You need to get roll _exactly_ the number of spaces to the center square, and we get to pick your category,” Dustin said. 

“It’s gonna be green,” Lucas whispered across to Dustin. 

“Of course it is,” Dustin said with a sly smile.

“Ugh! I hate you both!” Max said, shoving Lucas away from her.

Just when Dustin was about to roll the dice, Lucas said, “uh, guys?” and pointed out the window. 

Snow was falling in thick blankets, blowing in hard and fast, and piling up quickly. 

“It wasn’t supposed to start until after four, I thought,” Dustin said. “What time is it?”

“Two-thirty,” Max said. 

“Let’s go before this gets any worse,” Lucas said. 

The three kids hustled to pack up the game and head for the door. 

The bell jangled as Lucas and Dustin headed out, and as Max touched the door, Billy yelled, “Max!” 

She turned. 

“Call up here when you get home.” 

She cracked a smile. “Worried about me?” 

“Someone’s gotta be. You have all the grace of a bull in a china shop. You have more band-aids on your legs than skin.” 

Max laughed. “I’ll call. And uh, Billy?” She glanced over quickly toward Steve, who had been reading quietly at a table for the last couple of hours. “Good luck.” 

Billy smiled. “Get lost.”

She flipped him the bird. “Fuck off.” 

~*~

A few hours passed and no new customers walked through the door, so Billy thought it was safe enough to grab a cup of coffee and join Harrington at the table in the back corner. 

“But _how_? How can you like peanut butter and pickle sandwiches?” Billy asked, completely disgusted. 

“Easy,” Steve said. “They’re delicious.” He took a bite of the lemon loaf that Billy had given him. “My mom used to make them for herself when I was a little kid all the time so I asked her for half one day. I mean -- to be fair I always ask if I can have whatever she’s having. She always makes extra because she knows it’s coming -- so yeah, she let me try her peanut butter and pickle sandwich. And I liked it.”

“I don’t know, Harrington. This changes my entire perception of you. This is just vile.” 

“Oh really? An entire year of fighting, circling around each other, making up, becoming friends, fighting interdimensional creatures, exchanging phone numbers, spending the night at my house that one time, and the deal breaker is _peanut butter and pickle sandwiches_?”

“Yes. Deal broken. It’s over, Harrington. Skedaddle.” 

“I didn’t say shit about your pizza with fucking pineapples on it, Billy. So. We’re even.” 

Billy’s jaw fell open. “How dare you come at a beloved fruit like that!” 

“Pineapple does not belong on pizza.” 

“It does. They’re small and sweet! Perfect with some spicy jalapeños.” 

“Ugh. Those are too spicy for me.”

“Too spicy? No such thing.” 

“I’m starting to sweat just _thinking_ about jalapeños.” 

“Harrington. You’re far too whitebread. You need more spice in your life.” 

“Do I? Need more spice?”

“Yes. Frankly, you do. A life without spice is a life hardly worth living. Eat some goddamn jalapeños. Live a little.” 

“Okay. Okay, so, more jalapeños. I’m curious to know what other kind of words of wisdom you have for me. Tell me, oh great wise one. What else do I need?” 

Billy leaned forward on his elbows, smiling a leering smile. “Stop eating peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.” 

Steve put his elbows on the table too. It was a _small_ table. He smelled faintly like Polo and a little like cigarettes. “Okay. What else?” 

“Add more spices and seasoning. You’re like mayo on Wonder Bread over there. There’s more to life than Count Chocula and peanut butter and pickles sandwiches.”

“But Count Chocula is delicious.” 

“Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that.” 

“Mmm. Glad to know you’ll give me _something_.” Steve’s foot knocked against Billy’s under the table. “What else do I need to be doing?” Steve’s eyes were bright, laughing eyes searching Billy’s face, full of amusement and happiness. 

Billy basked in the warmth he felt -- how Steve’s eyes stayed fixed on Billy’s face, eyes amused, and that _smile_. 

“You should learn how to change your own oil. Come over sometime and I’ll teach you.” 

Steve nodded and leaned forward even more. “Alright. Oil changes. Should I be writing this down, or?” 

Billy inhaled sharply as he’d never been so close to Steve’s face. He could see the stubble on Steve’s jaw and the three little moles on his cheek -- he wanted to reach out and touch. His fingers twitched on the table. “And we should hang out more. In general.”

“I agree. We should. Other than the time you spent the night, we haven’t really had a chance to since-” Steve waved his hand. 

“Since Starcourt.” Billy finished for him. 

“Yeah. Since Starcourt.” 

Silence fell. 

“Tell me about your book,” Billy said. 

Steve paused and thought for a moment. “I mean. It’s -- wild.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Lotsa drugs. Crazy shit happening out in Vegas. My parents went once but they didn’t take me so I really wouldn’t know but it seems right, I guess. Seems like a pretty tacky place.” 

“A wild drug-filled story about a tacky place.” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah That’s exactly what this book is about. It’s holding my interest at least and that’s a miracle. Because, like. Me and books? We really don’t get along.”

“You just needed the right book to show up, is all.” 

“Yeah. Guess maybe I did,” Steve said. And that look he was giving Billy was unmistakable; Billy received looks like this a couple times a day at least -- a gaze held for too long with soft eyes. 

Nerves itched under Billy’s skin with that look. He didn’t want to read too much into it and end up crushed by rejection. So Billy stood to stretch -- his body sometimes grew stiff if he sat idle for too long. 

And that was when the sight in front of the window caught his eye. 

Snow was piled up in mountains _everywhere_. 

“What. The. Fuck,” Billy said. 

Steve’s car looked like a white lump in the snow sparkling with the light slicing out from the store. “Holy shit. How did it even pile up so fast?” 

Billy checked his watch. 6:45pm, almost closing time. 

The walkie talkie crackled from the back room. Billy ran back to the office to Jack’s desk and opened up a couple of drawers before finding the walkie in the second one. 

“-let me know if you can hear me, over.” Jack’s voice said, faint and staticky. 

Billy held down the button. “Yeah! Yeah just found the walkie. What’s going on out there? Over.” 

Jack’s voice came through on the other end. “Hargrove! It’s a goddamn blizzard. Forecasters didn’t see it coming. My goddamn truck took a shit. Can’t plow anything tonight, and right when folks need the help the most. Is Harrington still with you? Over.” 

“Yeah, he is. Holy shit. Looks like there are fucking _feet_ of snow. Over.” 

“Two and half and counting. Sorry Hargrove. If I’d have known it was gonna be this bad I would’ve sent you home hours ago. You and Harrington need to hunker down there and spend the night if you can -- even those snow chains on his tires can’t handle this mess. Would the two of you be able to do that? Over.” 

Billy swallowed hard. “Yeah. I can. I’ll go check with Harrington. You gonna make it home okay? Over.” 

“I’m already at home -- truck didn’t even make it out of the garage. I’m staying put. You both should do the same. I’ll let Hopper know you’re both over there. Phone lines are still up and running, so make calls as you need to. Just -- don’t call China on my dime, alright Hargrove? Over.” 

Billy laughed. “Already called ten times tonight. Over.” 

“Asshole. Over.” 

“Always, Mr. Sinclair. That pretty little lady in Shanghai sends her love. Over.” 

“You two hang tight and stay safe. You hear me? Over.” 

The glowing star feeling returned. Billy embraced it this time. “Yeah. Will do. You do the same. Over and out.” 

Billy took the walkie with him out into the cafe and placed it on the counter. “It’s a goddamn blizzard. Looks like we’re here for the night, Harrington. You’re not going anywhere when the roads look like that.” 

Steve stood up and moved over to the window to look at the mountains of snow. “Well. Guess we better settle in then.” 

~*~

“and no one predicted the strong winds and heavy precipitation that we’re experiencing tonight,” the meteorologist on the radio said. “These blizzard conditions are hazardous. County road crews will be plowing through the night to try and dig folks out from under this mess. Until then, the safest thing to do, if at all possible, is to shelter in place until this storm blows over. Stay warm, stay safe, stay put, and by all means, do not go outside unless absolutely necessary.” 

Billy reached over to turn the dial on the countertop radio until it clicked off. “Looks like we’re officially stuck. At least til someone comes by to dig us outta here.” 

“Wish I noticed it earlier,” Steve said. “I could’ve brought you home before this all started.” 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to leave work early, though,” Billy said. “It’d be shitty to leave Jack in a lurch like that.” 

Steve looked at Billy incredulously. “Billy you didn’t have any customers for two hours straight. I think the shop would’ve been just fine.” 

“Well we know that _now_. Plus-”

“Plus what?” Steve turned to Billy. 

Embarrassment flushed over Billy. He tried to find the words to toe this line carefully -- to not allow himself to be hurt by revealing too much and let that shining star dim. “I got all caught up in our conversation. And. Ah. I guess I lost track of time. It was pretty -- y’know. Nice and all that.” 

Steve huffed a laugh. “Me too. I mean. I didn’t even notice a goddamn blizzard. Jesus what an idiot.” 

And there it was. “You know, you shouldn’t say that about yourself, Harrington.” 

“Say what? That I’m an idiot?” 

“Yeah. You talk about yourself like that all the goddamn time. I don’t think you should” 

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true. I’m an idiot. Everyone knows that. Everyone from my parents to my second grade teacher to all of my friends knows that.” 

Billy felt a bright, hot flash of anger at everyone who dared to make Steve feel this way. There was only one explanation for this -- this was the product of years of conditioning and being told he was stupid, that he was less, of being teased and made fun of. He tried to calm his voice and take the bite out of his tone. “You underestimate yourself. All of those people you just named brainwashed you into thinking it.” 

“Billy. I mean, it’s nice of you to say and everything, but really. I’m dumb. They tried to get me special ed services in school but my parents refused so I skated by with Ds -- but only because teachers liked me and like, gave me extended due dates and notes and graphic organizers that other kids didn’t get. Seriously. I’m not smart.” 

Billy crossed his arms and suddenly felt warm thoughts about those teachers who actually might have been helping Steve quietly. “Name four drugs they did in _Fear and Loathing_.”

“Weed, mescaline, cocaine, acid,” Steve said without blinking. “But, I mean, that’s not really -- reciting four drugs from a book is hardly proof that I’m not dumb.”

“Uh huh. And what point do you think this book was trying to make?” 

“What point?” 

“Yeah. What was it trying to _say_?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “That that white picket fence dream that my parents always blather on about is dead and gone, all dried up and vanished away in a stupid desert with a bunch of stupid drugs and terrible people in a terrible place doing fucked up shit.” 

Billy was silent for a moment and let Steve sit with his answer. He watched as realization dawned on Steve. “What was that you were saying about dumb?” 

“I mean. Just because I read a book about drugs-” 

“ _Harrington_. Stop. I’m not your parents, I’m not your second grade teacher, and I’m not Tommy fuckin Hagen with any type of preconceived notion about who you are. I’m calling it like I see it, and you’re _not_ dumb. So stop selling yourself short. Okay?” 

Steve bit his lip and held up his hands in resignation. “Fine. Not dumb.” He walked over to look over the collection of board games on the shelf under the books. “I kind of like this version of you, you know.” 

It was just that kind of talk that made Billy feel warm all over -- like a cat stretched out in the sun, purring with the feeling of it. “Yeah?” 

“Not a dick. Not pushing me around. Nothing to prove anymore.” 

“Yeah. Well. Dying and coming back will do that shit to you.” 

Steve laughed. “Guess so.” 

“Since I’m stuck here all night with a not-idiot,” Billy said as he went to the door, locked it, and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. He pulled the blinds on the door closed but left the window ones open so that they could observe the snowfall. “We’ve got a couple packs of cards. Wanna play a game?” 

“Sure,” Steve said as he sprawled out across the loveseat. 

Billy grabbed the pack and sat across from Steve, taking the cards out and starting to shuffle. “Gin.” 

“Like gin rummy? Are you my grandma?” 

Billy started dealing out the cards and lit up a cigarette. “Dunno. Does grandma Harrington look _this_ good?” He gestured down at his body. 

“She doesn’t have your abs, I’ll admit. But she _does_ have that same tattoo. Mullet as well.”

Billy barked a laugh. “I like Granny Harrington already.” 

Steve smiled brightly. 

There were worse ways to spend a blizzard, Billy thought. 

~*~

Hours passed. They played several hands of gin (Steve won every game) and picked at the pastry case for munchies. Earlier Jack had radioed over to tell them to help themselves to anything when they got hungry. 

Billy shut off most of the lights as the hour grew late, leaving only a couple of table lamps switched on, then pulled down the rest of the blinds as they were finally able to settle the bet about if the snowfall would reach the window of Steve’s car by midnight. 

Steve thought it would. Billy thought it wouldn’t. By the time Billy pulled the blinds, it wasn’t there.

“You scared of peeping Toms in a blizzard?” Steve asked as he reclined in the loveseat.

“Nah.” Billy sat across from Steve again. “More like -- what’s out in the forest.” 

An anxious look flashed across Steve’s face. “You have weapons here?”

Steve’s question alone was enough to make a brief flutter of fear pass through Billy’s chest. “There’s nothing out there, amigo. But if there was -- yeah. Jack’s got a rifle and an axe back there. Plus a can of gas in the back room. And--” Billy held aloft his Zippo. 

Steve relaxed a little. “Good. Just -- the last couple of years taught me to always keep my nail bat in the trunk of my car. Gotta be prepared for whatever the fuck is happening in Hawkins that keeps happening.” 

“Yeah. I mean, unless you got blindsided like I did. Literally -- in my Camaro. Nothing can prepare you for that shit.” 

“Ya know, I’ve never heard that story? Here, why don’t you sit down. You’re making me nervous.” Steve patted the spot next to him on the loveseat. “Get comfy. We’re here for the night and neither of our asses would appreciate sitting in one of those chairs for several hours.” 

“Good point. My back’s gonna hate me tomorrow, christ. I always wake up stiff as a board anyway. Takes a goddamn hour just to loosen up.” Billy sat down next to Steve and pulled the blanket on top of him that he’d managed to wrangle up in the back office. 

Steve snatched up a corner and tugged it over himself. 

“Hey! The fuck, Harrington!” Billy said, tugging hard on his side. 

“Consider it payment,” Steve said. He had an iron grip on his side of the blanket. 

“Payment for what?” Billy balked. 

“For driving you home.” Steve settled in next to Billy under the blanket. The loveseat was relatively small, so two people reclining meant they were pressed rather tightly together. 

Not that Billy minded being pressed to Steve’s arm. Not at all. He was eternally grateful that this was the only cushioned seating arrangement in Jack’s Cuppa Joe.

“I haven’t said thank you, by the way,” Billy said. “For coming to drive me home tonight. And for staying.” 

Steve didn’t say anything, but settled in closer, his arm now slightly under Billy’s. 

“I haven’t, like.” Frustration welled up inside of Billy. He didn’t enjoy doing this and half of the time he couldn’t find words for what he was feeling, so he’d just not say anything at all and stew in it or punch his way out. 

Doc Owens had been encouraging him to break this habit. 

“This shit’s hard for me, you know,” Billy said. “Talking about things. Like, the accident. About the fucked up shit that happened after or just y’know, talking in general. I guess.” 

“Mm.” Steve’s foot now touched Billy’s on the floor. 

“But you. You’ve always pulled that kinda stuff out of me easily, y’know? All of that shit that I just try to squash and pretend isn’t there -- something about you just brings it right out. It’s like just your presence can reach down into that spot like right in the pit of my stomach where I try to shove all of that. Like when I first got here it was anger.” 

Steve looked up at Billy and he was close -- so close. “So my devastating good looks made you angry.” 

Billy huffed a laugh. “You know it.” 

“And now?”

Billy’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s lips. His voice came out softly -- almost a whisper. “And now I feel content. I feel good.” 

The low light from the table lamp across the room cast long shadows of Steve’s eyelashes on his cheeks when he said, “do you wanna tell me about that night at the mill?” 

Billy’s heartbeat picked up in his chest. His knee-jerk reaction was to put up a fight -- to throw out an insult or deflect instead of revealing something personal and scary -- to admit that he’d been terrified and the victim of trauma. 

He fought to push past that feeling. _Ya gotta let people in, Hargrove. You’re not a fortress,_ Doc Owens said in his mind.

“That night, I was -- ah. I was on my way to fuck Mrs. Wheeler.” 

“I’m sorry you were _what_?” Steve’s voice was pitched high as he asked the question. 

“Relax, Harrington. I wasn’t actually gonna do it. I sweet-talked her and convinced her to meet me at a motel. I just.” Panic fluttered in Billy’s chest. “All I’m gonna say about that shit, man, is that I felt like I had something big to prove.” 

“Okay. And you were gonna do that by fucking Nancy’s mom?” 

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a good idea. I’ve done a more stupid, shitty things than I can count. And trying to get Karen Wheeler in a motel was one of them. She never showed anyway. And neither did I.” 

Steve was quiet for a moment. “What happened?” 

“I was driving and kind of rehearsing what I was gonna say and trying to talk myself into it. Hype myself up for it. And then outta nowhere I was T-boned and spun out in front of the warehouse. I still don’t know really what the fuck actually slammed into my car. I blacked out for a few seconds. And when I blinked the stars out of my eyes, I stumbled out and found some fuckin, goo, or something, on my windshield.” 

Steve shifted next to him. His thigh was pressed to Billy’s. 

“That’s when it got me. Fuckin thing tugged me down like it was the Fridge tackling a running back. I ended up in the basement of the mill.” 

“What happened in the basement?” Steve asked as he started to lightly trace Billy’s palm.

It tickled a little, the sensation prickling up Billy’s arm. 

Billy swallowed and blinked back tears. “Did you see _Alien_?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It was kind of like that. Bigass clawed tentacle fucking my face.” 

Steve’s fingertips teased their way between Billy’s fingers. “Jesus.” 

Residual trauma ate up any anxiety Billy had about touching Steve, and he laced his fingers fully between Steve’s. 

Steve squeezed Billy’s hand. 

“I have these flashes of memories now, from when it was posing as me. I did shit but it wasn’t _me_ doing them. It’s like I watched everything happen from the bottom of a well or something. And sometimes I didn’t watch. Like I couldn’t bear to watch some shit, and sometimes I was just asleep and that fuckin _thing_ was out there in total control of me. It was like being held hostage in my own goddamn mind.” 

Steve’s thumb caressed Billy’s. “There were times that I thought I saw you. That the kids thought they did, too.” 

Billy nodded. “I could still cry. It let me have that, at least.” 

Steve pulled their interlaced hands on top of the blanket and began slowly tracing the scars on the back of Billy’s hand. “No wonder you’ve been so quiet since you came home,” he said. 

Billy swallowed past the lump in his throat and watched as Steve gently touched Billy’s scars. “I was afraid -- still afraid, honestly -- that when I open my mouth to talk? That it ain’t gonna be me. That it’ll be that fuckin _thing_ using me again. Makes it hard to like, interact with the human race.” 

“I mean yeah, I get it. I’d probably be scared to talk, too,” Steve said. “But I’m glad you’ll open your mouth around me.” 

Billy smiled. “Even if I’m giving you shit because you like peanut butter and pickles sandwiches?” 

“Hey I didn’t say I like _everything_ that comes out of that piehole, so.” 

“But I’m right. So. Eat it.” 

“Eat what? A peanut butter and pickle sandwich?” Steve asked. 

But Billy didn’t answer because Steve lifted Billy’s hand to his mouth, ghosting his lips along the scars. “Yeah,” Billy said breathily. 

“Maybe I will,” Steve said, his eyes fixed on Billy’s face. His words sent little puffs of air along the back of Billy’s hand. Little goosebumps formed there and raised along Billy’s forearm. 

“Maybe you should,” Billy said and he no longer had any idea what they were talking about because Steve started to press open-mouthed kisses to Billy’s hand, his mouth exploring the scars, lips running over the raised flesh there. 

“Your _scars_ ,” Steve said. His tongue licked along one of them. 

Billy’s dick twitched against the fly of his jeans. 

The last thing he’d expected tonight was Steve Harrington tongue fucking the back of his hand, but here they were. He tried to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. 

Steve set down Billy’s hand and for two seconds Billy felt crushing disappointment, the stomach-dropping sensation that he’d read the entire thing wrong and that he’d fucked up and lost out and that was that for his shot at Steve. 

But then Steve surged forward, hand behind the back of Billy’s neck, and pressed their lips together. 

Billy melted into the kiss immediately, responding as Steve found the perfect angle for it, their noses brushing, the stubble from Steve’s jaw rough under Billy’s fingers. 

It turned out that the rumors that Billy had heard last year in the crowded hallways of Hawkins High were true -- Steve Harrington could _kiss_ , that being kissed by him was like ascending to a higher plane, that he could make your toes curl and make you hot and heavy and begging for it within 120 seconds flat. 

It was all in the softness, shockingly. He went in not all aggressive, but with precision and gentleness, so that by the time he touched his tongue to Billy’s lips, Billy’s cock was rock hard and he was making little huffing moans that just couldn’t be helped. 

Steve was half on top of Billy, his fingers lost in Billy’s curls, and then his lips left Billy’s mouth. Billy would’ve wept if Steve didn’t immediately move to kiss Billy’s jaw. 

Billy thought about the time he’d spent the night at Steve’s house. It was three in the morning and Steve walked into the guest room doorway where Billy was sleeping, backlit by the hallway light. He’d only been wearing his briefs, hands reaching up to touch the upper door frame, stretched out and looking like a Calvin Klein. _Got everything you need_? He’d asked. 

If only Billy had realized then what he knew now -- that Steve was kissing down Billy’s neck, shifting so that he could kneel on the floor and nudge Billy’s knees apart. For three seconds Billy felt self-conscious about the massive bulge in his jeans but then Steve was jamming Billy’s sweater up and running his hand along the smattering of scars there. 

“God, _Billy_ ,” he said. “You’re so fuckin beautiful.” 

And beautiful wasn’t necessarily a word Billy would’ve picked to describe himself, but with Steve’s fingers lovingly caressing every scar and Steve worshipping the giant scar in the center of his chest with his mouth, he felt like maybe it could be true. 

Maybe he was beautiful. 

Billy ran his fingers through Steve’s hair as Steve kissed each scar and ran his tongue over some of the bigger ones -- and then his hand slid up Billy’s thigh and over the hard line of his dick. “Fuck,” Billy hissed while Steve started rubbing the bulge. 

Eventually Steve’s mouth left the scars on Billy’s lower abdomen and he started tugging at Billy’s fly while Billy worked on not jizzing in his jeans. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing as Steve slid his jeans down, encouraging Billy to lift his hips so that he could tug the jeans and underwear totally down to Billy’s ankles. 

Billy felt hyper exposed with his naked legs and dick hard and bobbing up at Steve’s chin, but when Billy looked down and saw the expression on Steve’s face, that feeling vanished. 

Steve closed his eyes and looked like he was in ecstasy as he nosed his way through the dark blond thatch of curls at the base of Billy’s dick. He licked each of Billy’s balls, sucking each one into his mouth gently and laving it with his tongue before licking all the way up the shaft of Billy’s dick and swallowing him down, humming when he took as much as he could. 

“Holy shit,” Billy said, trying to resist the urge to start pumping into Steve’s mouth. He looked down to see the top of Steve’s head start bobbing, sucking while his hand wandered up Billy’s chest, fingers tracing the outline of a couple of scars as he brought Billy closer and closer to the edge. 

Billy knew he wasn’t gonna last long -- not with the way Steve was working him, like he’d been hungry for it, like he’d wanted nothing more than to be on his knees sucking Billy’s dick while Billy thought _Jesus christ you’re so good Steve, so hot, so fucking wonderful_ , only to realize that he was actually saying that stuff out loud. 

Steve hummed at this, and then slid his tongue over the slit of the head of Billy’s cock and that was that -- Billy had enough time to tap Steve’s arm before he started coming in Steve’s mouth, twitching his release and Steve swallowed it all down, one hand still fingering Billy’s scars and the other wrapped tightly around Billy’s thigh. 

“Jesus Christ Harrington,” Billy said as he came back down to Earth. “That was -- that was fucking spectacular.” 

“Mm, thanks,” Steve said as he climbed back up on the loveseat next to Billy’s side. Billy wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him forward for a kiss. “Been wanting to do that forever.” 

“Yeah?” Billy asked as he kissed Steve again and tasted himself in Steve’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Always thought you were hot but lately just seeing you with these tight thermals and aprons and the scars on your hands -- that shit drives me wild.” 

Billy realized Steve was sitting there still horny and unattended. “Yeah? You like what I wear to work?” He started kissing Steve’s neck and massaging Steve’s long thigh. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve said breathily as he gave Billy more access to his neck. “Every time I see you have to jack off.” 

“Pretty boy you can’t just _say_ shit like that,” Billy said as he lifted the hem of Steve’s sweatshirt up and over his head. 

“Sometimes I don’t even make it home,” Steve said as Billy started repaying the attention Steve had paid to Billy’s scars by tongue kissing every little mole he could find on Steve’s chest, relishing in the sensation of Steve’s coarse chest hair on his face. “I’ve jacked off in my car like, four different times after I’ve seen you.” 

“You pull over to touch your dick and think about me?” Billy asked. He started working the fly of Steve’s jeans open with deft fingers and felt the outline of Steve’s hard dick through his red Calvins, a dark, damp spot showing at the tip. Billy felt his own spent dick give a twitch of interest. 

“The most I’ve made it is like two blocks,” Steve said. “You look so fucking _good_ Billy. And the way you look at me? You drive me crazy. You have no goddamn idea.” 

Billy felt like that glowing star he’d been metaphorically holding just grew blindingly bright. 

He got to the floor on his knees and tugged hard at Steve’s briefs and jeans. 

Billy had seen Steve’s dick before -- this was nothing new. He knew it was big. But seeing it in its full, hard glory was another thing totally. He opened and closed his jaw a few times, stretching it out, and set to work at showing Steve exactly how much he appreciated everything Steve had told him tonight. 

He hoped he was half as good and sucking Steve’s dick as Steve had been at doing Billy’s. It seemed to be just fine, though, with one of Steve’s hands in Billy’s hair by the end and him shouting _Fucking CHRIST Billy_ as he came over Billy’s tongue. 

Billy cleaned him all up and pressed a kiss to Steve’s dick before joining Steve on the loveseat one more time. 

After they tugged their clothes back on and Steve settled back against Billy’s chest, Steve said, “you know I had no idea it was gonna be this good.” 

Billy slid his hand down and laced his fingers through Steve’s. “You knew this was gonna happen?” 

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Kinda thought it was inevitable. How you looked at me from the other side of that counter, Billy -- I knew it.”

Billy wondered when he’d become so transparent around Steve. Maybe he had been all along. “Yeah. Well. It’s pretty goddamn good, pretty boy.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek -- this one chaste and loving. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as they grew more and more sleepy, although a few times as Billy’s eyes started to drift closed, he snapped them open because he thought it was just too good to be true and he’d been imagining the entire thing. 

But each time he did, it was the same result -- Steve Harrington snoring softly on Billy’s chest. 

Billy tugged Steve close, and they slept soundly through the night. 

~*~

“Fuck. My _neck_ ,” Billy moaned after the pain of it made it no longer possible to lay there on the loveseat just gazing at Steve’s sleeping face on his chest. 

“Here, turn around,” Steve said as he stretched himself into consciousness. 

Billy did so and succumbed to Steve’s ministrations, his long, deft fingers working loose the knots around the base of Billy’s neck, over his shoulders, and down his back. 

He started to get inappropriate thoughts about what else those fingers could be capable of, and those thoughts led to more kissing, and then a bathroom break. Billy tried to open the blinds but Steve stopped him in favor of shoving him against the wall and kissing him for what felt like an eternity of bliss. 

Neither one heard the back door open. 

Billy was just enjoying how Steve’s hands were fisted in his sweater and his thigh was pressed enticingly between Billy’s legs when a loud, exaggerated cough came from the other side of the room. 

Steve jumped back quickly. 

Jack Sinclair was standing at the back cafe entrance in a snowsuit, covered head to toe in snow that was still sliding off of his shoulders. “Sorry to interrupt and all that, but would you two mind taking a breather and helping me out front?” 

Billy chased Jack as he turned to go back into the office. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m sorry. I-” 

Jack turned. “Steve Harrington. I knew it.” 

“Sir, I-” 

“You don’t have to explain shit to me, Billy. He make you happy?”

“Yes sir.”

“He good to you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then everything else is not my business. Now if you don’t mind, we have a blizzard’s worth of snow to clean from out front. I’m only here because I finally got my truck going early this morning. No one’s on the roads yet since this area hasn't been plowed, but county road crew should be coming this way soon. Now. If y’all wouldn’t mind,” Jack said as he jammed two shovels to Billy’s chest. “Let’s start digging.” 

That glowing star feeling returned, and Billy wondered now if it would ever stop. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t. “Yes sir.” 

It took two hours of shoveling, dusting, salting, and clearing -- but finally, Steve drove Billy home. 

And he didn’t leave, either. He stayed for an entire glorious week of lovemaking and movies and food. They went to work when they had to, but rushed back to Billy’s to start it all over again. 

Two days before Christmas, Steve gave Billy the longest kiss that Billy had ever received as they stood in Billy’s doorway. “I gotta go. But I promise -- Christmas day. I’ll be over then. Okay?” All of this was said between frantic kisses. “I’ll call later.” 

Billy watched Steve run off and wondered what he had up his sleeve.

~*~

Christmas day rolled around and it almost felt like any other day to Billy. He’d planned on seeing Max later when she went over Lucas’s, but that was about it. Steve had promised he’d be back, but Billy wasn’t trying to get his hopes up in fear of having them crushed.

It was a lazy morning for coffee, pajamas, pancakes, and bacon. 

He picked up the little present that he’d wrapped for Steve in red paper with a green ribbon. Yet another bout of anxiety rippled through him about if he should’ve even gotten a gift for Steve at all. Maybe Steve would be weirded out. Maybe it was too fast. Maybe Steve hadn’t gotten anything for Billy and Billy would feel like a jackass for presuming things were more than they were. Maybe Steve would hate it. 

The entire cycle of doubt replayed until the sound of tires crunching snow came from his driveway. 

Steve bounded up the stairs wearing a red and green sweater with gold ribbon somehow laced through it and a pair of goddamn _antlers_ on his head. “Merry Christmas Billy,” he said, leaning in for a long kiss. 

“Mm. Merry Christmas to you too,” Billy said when they finally broke apart. “That’s the ugliest goddamn sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

“Wore it just for you, sugarlips.” 

“Well, lucky for me. And lucky for you, pretty boys with ugly sweaters get gifts today,” Billy said as he pressed his little gift box to Steve’s chest. 

Steve smiled. A bright pink blush spread up to his ears. “Should I wait?” 

“Just fuckin tear into it,” Billy said. 

Steve ripped the paper and opened the lid to the box. Inside, on top of a little cushion, was a gold necklace -- a matching necklace to the one Billy wore. 

Steve was quiet for a moment, and Billy grew nervous with each passing moment. “It looks like yours.” 

Billy nodded. “Can’t match in public, and it’s just a gold necklace if you take the medallion off, but I thought you might like something for under your shirt, or something, I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid-”

Steve cut Billy off with a searing kiss.

After a couple of minutes of lips, tongue, roaming hands, and Steve nipping Billy’s bottom lip, Steve pulled back and asked Billy to help him put it on. Steve wore it on top of the ugly sweater. “I have something for you. But, you gotta put your coat on.” 

Billy gave Steve a confused look. “I have to put my coat on for you to give me a gift?” 

“Yep,” Steve said, popping the p. He checked his watch. “And we gotta go. So -- go grab your coat and meet me outside.” 

“Okay?” Billy said skeptically. 

Billy sat clueless in Steve’s car until Steve pulled down Cherry Lane. “The _fuck_ are you doing Harrington!” He hissed. “Neil will wear our guts for garters.” 

Steve parked the car down the block, so 4819 was just in sight. He pulled a walkie talkie out from under his seat. “Tinsel, this is Rudolph. Location on Abominable and Heatmiser? Over,” he said into it. 

“Abominable is in his recliner. Heatmiser said she’d wait for my cue. Over,” Henderson’s voice crackled back. 

“Perfect. You’re on, Tinsel. Over.” 

“Copy that, Rudolph,” Henderson said. “Naughty elf, wait for the signal. Over.”

“Copy that. Good luck Tinsel, over,” said Lucas Sinclair over the walkie.

“What the actual _fuck_ ,” Billy repeated.

“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine,” Steve said. He seemed nervous, though.

Henderson bounded up the front stairs, came in the screen door, and knocked on the main front door. 

Neil Hargrove answered while Lucas snuck around the back. 

Henderson walked out from the screened-in porch a minute later to the front lawn, followed by Neil, and pointed to the forest across the street. It appeared he was giving Neil some sort of animated explanation.

“The hell could Henderson possibly say to Neil?” 

“He’s trying to show him the proposed space where the Boy Scouts want to help build a hiking trail across the street.” 

Billy felt his entire face screw up. “Henderson’s a Boy Scot?” 

Steve laughed. “Nope. It’s a distraction.” 

Inside the house, Billy saw Max dart toward the back of the house. Henderson continued talking and gave a little Boy Scout salute. 

“That’s the signal. He’s gonna try to get Neil to donate to the Boy Scouts,” Steve said. He picked up the walkie again. “All systems go, Naughty Elf. Over.” 

“Copy. Heatmiser and I are in Santa’s sleigh. Over and out,” Sinclair said. 

Steve started the car and made a slow U-turn when Neil and Henderson moved back into the house. He drove down two blocks, turned a corner, and parked yet again. 

“I’m so confused right now,” Billy said. 

Steve leaned over and gave Billy a kiss. “Be patient, baby.” 

A smile spread across Billy’s face. “Rudolph?” 

Steve nodded. “Dustin insisted since I was the one in charge.” 

The walkie suddenly burst into life as Sinclair yelled frantically, “MISSION COMPLETE! SANTA’S SLEIGH HAS BEEN FREED. REPEAT: NAUGHTY ELF AND HEATMISER ARE NOW GUIDING SANTA’S SLEIGH!” 

An unmistakable rumble came from around the corner. 

The Camaro, fully restored, waxed to high heavens and shining blue, rolled around the corner and parked in front of them. There was a giant red bow on top of it. 

Sinclair emerged from the driver’s side and handed the keys to Steve, who gave him a high five. “Good work, Naughty elf and Heatmiser.” 

Steve passed the keys to Billy. “Merry Christmas, Santa.” 

Billy’s heart raced and his throat thickened. “I-” he started, but couldn’t finish. He pulled Steve over with both hands on Steve’s face and planted a long, long kiss on Steve’s lips. 

“Gross,” he heard Max say. 

“They’re in _love_ , Max. It’s cute,” Sinclair said. 

“He’s my _brother_ and I don’t care who he’s kissing, it’s gross and it’ll always be gross because he’s just --”

“Gross?” Sinclair said with a laugh. Max smacked him. 

“Thank you,” Billy whispered to Steve. 

Steve smiled and said, “couldn’t have done it without them.” 

Billy kissed Steve once more and exited the car to bound over to Sinclair and Max just as Henderson was starting to walk over. He scooped all three of them into a massive embrace. “You little _fuckers_.” 

He was openly crying now. He didn’t care. Not one bit. 

Henderson giggled as Billy put him in a light headlock and said, “you bold-faced lied to Neil Hargrove? You have more cajones than I thought you did, kid.” 

“Oh I didn’t lie. Technically, I never claimed that I was a boy scout. I just happened to know from my neighbor’s little brother who’s a scout that they were raising money to install a hiking path and just stated that the _scouts_ were raising money for the path and asked if I could count on him for a donation. Got a check to drop off to them, too.” 

“Don’t know what to say,” Billy said. “Best goddamn gift ever.” 

“Yeah, well. You can thank us with free hot chocolates for a year,” Sinclair said. 

“Jesus you’re like your sister sometimes,” Steve said. 

“How _dare_ you insult me like that,” Sinclair said. 

Steve wrapped his arm around Billy. 

The kids took their cue and walked off to go back to Henderson’s, wishing them both Merry Christmas as they departed. 

“Nice antlers, Rudolph,” Billy said as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s back. 

“Thanks Santa,” Steve said. “Can I sit on your lap later?” 

“Mm,” Billy placed a little kiss on Steve’s lips. “You’ve been a good boy so yeah, I’d say you deserve it. You should see Santa’s candy cane.” 

“Can hardly wait,” Steve said. He leaned down just that little bit to meet Billy’s lips again and kissed him in the secluded street behind Cherry Lane, and just then, it started to snow -- lightly this time. 

Billy followed Steve back to Billy’s place, driving his own Camaro again. 

He popped in the cassette that was in the deck -- one he knew wasn’t there that summer when it was totalled.

Springsteen’s live version of _Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town_ poured out from the speakers. 

Billy cranked it and cracked his window as he rolled on, cold be damned, revving his engine and savoring that mighty rumble, ready for what 1986 might hold.


End file.
